What I Went Through
by Sammy07
Summary: OneShot, Post-Saw. Adam never told Lawrence what Hell he went through in that bathroom before they were both rescued. He couldn't. Adam/Lawrence. SLASH. Although nothing too suggestive.


This is just a random idea that popped into my head that I decided to turn into a OneShot. There aren't any heavy signs of SLASH in it, although Adam/Lawrence is implied, so be wary. Basically, this is just a retelling of what Hell Adam went through in that bathroom before he was rescued. I have the feeling that Adam is the sort to cave very easily, but that he holds everything inside him for as long as he can. Please enjoy!

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Adam had never told Lawrence what he had gone through in those few hours, the few hours that he'd spent, alone and terrified, in that fucking bathroom, before the two of them had been found.

He had never told Lawrence how, after that sick killer had left him in that room to rot, he had screamed and screamed, until his throat was hoarse. He'd begged and pleaded, not just with Jigsaw, but with God, too. God, Jesus, the Devil, Mother Fucking Teresa... Everyone he could think of. Because he'd had no family to call out to, no parents, no children. Not even any friends. He had always been a loner.

The only person he'd had had been Lawrence, and he'd called to him, too. He'd called to that damn doctor until he could no more. Then, he'd thrown himself at the bathtub that he had woken up in, groping desperately in the darkness that engulfed him. He had clawed at the plughole, the plughole where the key to the chain that kept him a prisoner in that room was, scratching his fingers and hands against the rough hole and the pipes, until his fingers were raw past his nails, until his hands were shaking uncontrollably from blood loss.

Then, he'd collapsed onto his stomach, put his head in his hands, and cried. How long he had cried, he didn't know. Maybe he had fallen asleep. It was impossible to know. But the next thing Adam remembered was that the phone had begun to ring. The one-way cell phone that Lawrence had left. And he'd tried to reach it. Screaming, pulling at the chain around his ankle, Adam had tried to reach it, just as the older man had done before him. But he'd been unable to.

Whether it was Lawrence's wife, Allison, calling, the police, or just some random person, Adam had had no idea. And he hadn't cared, either. All he had known was that the phone could save him. If he could just _reach_ it, he could tell whoever he was calling that he was locked up, and they could track him, and...

After that, Adam had begun to scream again. Zep, the man whom he and Lawrence had originally thought to be the Jigsaw Killer, had been keeping surveillance on them with a security camera. And, having no idea where he had been watching from, or even if the camera was still connected, Adam had yelled out in the darkness, addressing whoever might be on the other side of the camera, whether it was the police, Jigsaw, or anyone watching him, begging, _pleading_, for them to get him out.

He had pleaded to be let out, or, if that was not possible, just to die quickly, not to be left alive to suffer. It was at that point that the young man had truly given up hope. Barely minutes after that, mercifully, Adam had passed out, too exhausted and drained to stay awake any longer.

But even in his dreams, he had been tormented. He'd dreamt that he was floating on the ceiling, somehow able to see in the pitch-black room, watching himself, alone and starving, in the bathroom. He'd dreamt that he had been trying to find help for himself, but that he had been unable to leave the room himself. And then, he'd dreamt that he had realized that he was in fact a ghost, and that he was staring down at his own dead body. And even then, he had been unable to escape, unable to fly out of the room and into the afterlife, because there was a ghost chain around his ankle, keeping him there.

That had been about the worst of it. Eventually, about two hours after Jigsaw had left him there, although it felt like years, Adam had been found. Police had knelt beside him, shaking him awake, calling his name, telling him that he was going to be okay. And Adam, when he'd come to himself, had cried, cried with every bit of energy that he had had left, into his rescuers' arms, ecstatically, pathetically, hugging them, thanking them, praising them, and God knew what else.

Then he had lost consciousness again, and woken up a few days later in a hospital. Police had asked him a few questions that he'd answered, doctors had examined his wounds, and eventually, he had been allowed to wander into one of the neighboring rooms to see Lawrence. And, God... The things the two of them had said when they'd reunited... And the gestures they had exchanged. They had been so relieved, so loving, so... So perfect.

The two of them had kissed. Such a simple way of putting it, but they had. Wrapped in each other's arms, so tightly that they might have passed for one person if the room had been dark, they had attacked one another's mouths with their teeth and tongues until they had been too exhausted to do so anymore. And then they'd fallen asleep, still intertwined, still loving, still content, even though they were scared and in shock.

And they'd been together when one of the detectives who had questioned them earlier brought the news of Jigsaw's death. They'd hugged each other in relief, huge, huge relief, when they had been told that the killer had tried to run, tried to outsmart them, but had been killed by a thousand bullets before he'd managed to do either.

And then, a few weeks later, after they had been discharged from the hospital, the thing that Adam had never dared to wish for, or even acknowledge that he wanted, had happened. Lawrence had come to live with him, had committed himself to making a life with him, even though Adam thought the surgeon could do so much better. But whenever he said this, Lawrence always denied it, saying that Adam was all he wanted, all he needed. And that made the photographer happy. It made him happier than he could ever admit.

Lawrence still saw his family occasionally, or, more accurately, he saw Diana. He and Allison hated each other, but did their best to be civil for their daughter's sake. Diana liked Adam, and Adam her. At first, the two had been distant, each jealous of the attention that the other received from Lawrence. But, eventually, they had bonded, become close, and ended up being almost as close as Lawrence and Diana were with each other.

But that didn't change the fact that Adam had never told Lawrence. When he awoke at night, screaming, crying, panting, and Lawrence held him, rocked him back and forth and murmured that it was all okay, that they were safe, that Jigsaw was dead and couldn't hurt them, Adam knew that the older man thought he had been having nightmares. That was true in one way, but not true in another.

Adam _did_ have nightmares. Almost every night, he had them. And it usually took hours of gentle words and persuasion to calm him down afterwards. But he didn't have the kinds of nightmares that Lawrence thought he had, or at least, not _just_ those kinds of nightmares. Occasionally, Adam did dream of the worst: He dreamt that Lawrence had failed to bring help, had bled to death, that the sick fuck Jigsaw had not been blasted into a million pieces by the police, and that he himself had slowly rotted in that bathroom, alone and forgotten. He knew those were the kinds of nightmares that Lawrence thought he had, the kinds of nightmares that he comforted him from.

But more often, he simply dreamt of those two hours after Lawrence had left to find help: The two worst hours of his life. The time when everything had seemed so lost and hopeless, when he'd thought that he had been going to die slowly, horribly and slowly, and when he had tried desperately to help himself but had been unable to. After all, Adam had been through such Hell already that he hardly needed to dream up more.

But Adam had misjudged Lawrence. Even though he loved him and thought that he was the most perfect person in the world, he had misjudged him. Lawrence _knew_ what he had gone through when he had gone, and he knew how it still haunted him.

One night, when Adam had awoken, screaming and crying in an agony of fear and despair, after Lawrence had spent over half an hour rocking him in his arms and kissing him gently on the forehead every now and then, and, after the younger man had calmed down enough to speak, he'd broken down in a different kind of way, sobbing that he was a burden to Lawrence, that he was weak to be so scared all the time, and that the other man deserved better, as he occasionally did after being comforted from one of those nightmares.

But this time, instead of simply saying that, no, Adam was _not_ a burden to him, that he loved him more than he'd ever loved anyone in his life, that he couldn't live without him, Lawrence pushed his lover roughly down below him, holding him at arm's length with his strong hands, and said, in a voice that trembled with emotion and love:

"You went through Hell in there, Adam. You're not weak to be still thinking about it; you're fucking _human_."

Adam hiccupped, still crying, and looked up at his comforter, his vision blurry with tears. He saw those wonderful, blue eyes, firm and loving, the ruffled, blond hair, wet with sweat from their earlier antics, and the face, creased with more lines than was natural for a middle-aged man, but that was still the most beautiful thing Adam had seen in his whole life.

"We went through the same," Adam replied hoarsely, even though he didn't think that at all. "In fact, you probably went through more. You had your family--"

But at this, Lawrence threw his bodyweight against Adam's, pushing him down against the bed, winding him, stopping his words. He looked so angry, so hurt, that it was alarming. Usually, he was nothing but sympathetic and gentle when his companion was like this. Not that he wasn't now, but he had never argued or snapped in such a way before.

"That's fucking _bullshit_, you stupid moron," Lawrence snarled, his hands shaking as they gripped the smaller man's trembling shoulders. Then, tears coming into his own eyes, rolling down his cheeks and splashing onto Adam's shocked face, he continued: "I saw your face when I left to find help, Adam. I saw the dead look in your eyes. I know you thought that we weren't going to make it. I know the sort of things you would have thought and done after I left."

And Adam stared, shocked, up at his lover, too stunned to speak, too astonished to cry anymore. Lawrence _had_ known... He had known all along. And still the photographer had kept it to himself, too afraid to share it, even with the man he loved most.

"Why... Why didn't you tell me you knew?" he mumbled finally, all self-doubt and guilt dimmed, but still not completely gone. Lawrence sighed, and his anger seemed to melt away, too. Slowly, tentatively, he lifted one of his hands from Adam's shoulder and ran it lovingly through his thick, dark hair, before answering.

"I thought that you would tell me when you were ready," he replied dully. Then, before the younger man could answer, went on: "But I couldn't wait anymore. I couldn't watch you hurt yourself so much, Adam."

Adam gave a tiny, anguished sob, and pressed himself closer to the other man, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably. But he felt better. Not _perfect_, of course. No matter what he shared with Lawrence, he would never be able to get over what had happened to them completely. But it was enough for now. He knew that it would get better over time, now that he knew Lawrence knew, and always had known. He knew that, eventually, he would be able to sleep without constant nightmares, be able to go to the bathroom without shuddering, be able to lose sight of Lawrence occasionally in the house and not go into a wild panic.

And, in his exhaustion and fading misery, Adam knew that it was enough. He murmured this, and a few other sweet nothings to his lover, as he slipped slowly back into unconsciousness, and Lawrence smiled, murmured back, feeling that a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Things would get better. They both knew that. And as long as they had each other, they would be able to wait and get through the fear and pain leading up to those better times.

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And please continue your reviews! They make me very happy! Hopefully, more people will realize what an awesome pairing ChainShipping is and come to appreciate the talents of those of us who write fanfics on it!


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